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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25620370">Impromptu Haircut</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnoyedSkittle/pseuds/AnnoyedSkittle'>AnnoyedSkittle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>&lt;3, Its a vent fic, Suicide mention, but it’s still just. cutting hair., if you struggle with suicidal thoughts i love you this is your sign to keep fighting, she’s. cutting her hair, so it’s a tad emotional, thats it that’s the fic she cuts her hair, vent fic, youre not alone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:55:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>444</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25620370</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnoyedSkittle/pseuds/AnnoyedSkittle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Toko Fukawa, caught up in feeling out of control, takes a blade to her hair.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>None</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Impromptu Haircut</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>lmao i wrote this at like     2 am after crying at god so enjoy this little bittie vent fic </p><p>it’s edited a bit tho so don’t worry no grammar mistakes as far as i can tell</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Staring at the person Toko hated the most was a daunting task. It took all her might to not rip out the scissors that were strapped to her thigh and shove it right into their stomach, but suicide was too big of a shadow for her to step in just yet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead, she held a pair of scissors from the warehouse and raised a shaky, bony hand to her hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her breathing hitched as water rushed to her eyes. No way would her moms ever let her raise a blade to her hair. No way would they ever let her do </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But, that didn’t matter, did it? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Toko wouldn’t make it out of the game alive. Hell, she barely wanted to. Murder was a far easier way to die than by suicide. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If she didn’t make it out, she’d face no repercussions from her moms. She’d be okay. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They won’t know,” she said to herself, her voice shaky and unconvincing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced the scissors closed and a lock of her deep purple hair fell to the bathroom tile. It fell to the tile that, within the four days of being trapped, she’d cried on about eleven times. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took seven minutes for Toko to muster up the courage to open her eyes. To look at herself, to look at what she’d done. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She cut a bit too high up, that was for sure. She meant to cut right below the jawline but instead ended up chopping hair off from just a smidge below the ear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She blinked a few times. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t stop now. She’d lost her chance to go back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Swallowing a lump of unknown dread, Toko continued slicing her hair away. Her pace changed from slow and uncertain so rapid and haphazardly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sensation of freedom shot through her spine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was doing that. She changed her appearance. Not some hairdresser, not her moms, not monokuma. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Toko. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not Toko Fukawa. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not Genocider Jack. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not the Ultimate Writing Prodigy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just Toko. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Toko did it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had some control. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t help but smile as she glared at her reflection, couldn’t help but feel different, like both a physical and mental weight had been lifted off of her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pushing her glasses up her scrawny nose, she looked at herself in whole. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be okay,” she repeated. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tears edged over her eyelids, leaving wet wires on her cheeks in their wake. Her smile only grew as she said those words over and over, each time with growing intensity until she was screaming her lungs out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wouldn’t survive, but she’d spend her remaining time in control of herself. Hopefully. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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